


The point of (no) return

by straightouttapopstar



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: (no but this is a lot angst fr), Alexa play Birth of the Holy Knight, Arvis goes insane trying to bring Sigurd back, Gets fluffy at the end, M/M, i mean uh. the major death is Sigurd but everyone knows that oof, i would die for arvisigurd ngl, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightouttapopstar/pseuds/straightouttapopstar
Summary: After causing the death of the person he loves, Arvis realizes what he had done and shuts himself away in his study for months. He is determined to scour every book on the continent and study every single spell just to bring his loved one back.But the flames cannot be undone.





	The point of (no) return

**Author's Note:**

> The og arvisigurd girl strikes again haha  
> Sorry for a bit of a hiatus on these two but I’ve been honing my art and taking a break with writing lately oof (ya’ll can see my art at @myrozettas on instagram. shameless self-promotion I know but ya girl gotta do what she gotta do)  
> this is inspired by a headcanon of mine that actually was inspired by a picture I saw of Arvis holding Valflame, and behind him was this weird rocky-lava-ish form of Sigurd, and it looked really sad but at the same time it really looked like Sigurd kept supporting Arvis even after his death so yeah!! Sorry for the horrible description but I’m not that great at recalling images haha  
> The headcanon is just that: even though Arvis kills Sigurd, Sig knows that Arvis really didn’t mean it in the first place. Therefore, I think that if he is brought back by any magical means, he will continue to support Arvis despite everything that happens. Then they both turn super evil, conquer the world with their sappy love and basically rule over a wasteland. But that’s fine bc they’re together so even if the world is destroyed, it’s ok  
> I also threw some angst into there bc I’m a bih like that lmao  
> Also this is another uninformed fic bc I STILL haven’t gotten around to playing Genealogy bc Quan keeps dying on me in the prologue gg  
> Please do enjoy :> so I can keep writing more fics that hopefully aren’t ruining this great ship for ya’ll

Here I lie; half-awake and one foot set into the coffin. My elbow perched upon the creaking surface of a lazure armchair, I ignore the knocks that are increasingly terrorizing my study’s doors, almost to the point of knocking them down.

“Arvis?”

What is the point anymore? Everything is a little game, constructed by the scheming superiors of the Loptyr who couldn’t give Jugdral a second of peace for years now. Even I had been fooled into making the silliest decisions under the temptation for power—including the sacrifice of someone I yearn for still.

“Arvis? Are you here?”

Sadly, I am not. My mind somewhat is, but my heart is somewhere else—it has always been with someone else. Always.

Lacking the energy to stand and open the doors to my brother who I had not seen for a while now, I keep laying down on the floor, my head propped on the seat of a chair.

“Brother, the entire house is worried...you’ve been locked here for months now. We cannot force you to leave but—please? Tell me what’s going on!”

I deduce that Azelle really does not need to know. He would think I am pathetic, misguided, full of useless feelings. Above all, I do not need his pity. I don’t need the house’s pity at all. It means nothing.

Unless it can bring him back to life; give him a voice, an existence, a vessel, then it is a useless thing.

I hear Azelle’s footsteps carry him away from the chamber again. I am not surprised my own brother has given up—truly, I would have given up on a brother such as I without a second thought. I am not disappointed, but understanding of his decision. I am unworthy after all.

My heart almost standing still, only yet driven forward to beat by my worries, fears and regret, I am too distracted to notice that someone has stood up and made my way towards myself across the room.

With the eyes that are tired of seeing hallucinations and images of a future that would never be, I feebly look up, praying that I would at least be able to see the person who wants to kill me. After all, it is better to know your murderer before hand, because then they’re easier to curse from beyond.

My eyes are blurry. I cannot see a recognizable silhouette but a splash of browns and oranges—my head starts to hurt, and my perception distorts slowly. What is going on? As the person’s indistinguishable limbs begin to cloud my vision, I feel heat. Extreme heat nearing my own body; burning, desiring something I have never been able to give.

That is when the silhouette touches me. I immediately exit my dazed state and reel back in pain, my hand feeling like a scorching core, but the heat doesn’t subside. It increases, rises like that curious substance in an ancient thermometer, keeps on going without a care. And the person keeps getting closer.

Lethargically, I crawl to the wall and push my back against it, but the abomination keeps its interest centered on me. My thoughts are circulating madly. This must be karma. This must be it.

This really must be it. I cannot even say goodbye to Azelle; the last person who cared, but even he had given up on knocking.

Preparing myself for a death blow, I cower under the creature’s burning countenance, pathetically covering my face with my paralyzed hands. I deserve this. As I await my verdict, I know I deserve it.

And as the creature drops to its knees before me, I close my eyes. The next thing I feel is a painful, burning stab on my forehead, and all goes silent.

Out of curiosity, I open my eyes a moment later.

Expecting to see light, I only see the familiar, warm darkness of my study. My numerous bookshelves, half-burnt pieces of paper scattered all over the stone floor. Expecting to feel light, I feel even heavier than before, and I can barely move a limb. Expecting to hear light, my ears can only catch the faintest crackles of fire right in front of me.

The quaint sounds of fire prompt me to arch my eyes upwards; and what I see there is nothing I have ever seen before.

It is him.

“Sigurd!”

He does not look like Sigurd—if his friends, even if his family had seen him, no one would recognize him at all. To a common folk, he would look more like a witch’s familiar or a horrendous abomination from frightening bedtime stories—after all, there is nothing about his look that is familiar. He is wearing clothes, sure, but it looks like they are all set, dirty stone that has glistening cracks inbetween, resembling dried magma holding onto its life. His skin bears the same patterns—as dark as smoke, the darkness cut through with shining lava. Even though the last time I saw him, his hair was laced with seawater and gentleness of the ocean depths, it is now a living, breathing ember of an amber flame that kept flailing its glowing tentacles, trying its absolute best to imitate hair. However, it only manages to look like a furious campfire that cannot even feed its makers.

His eyes are empty. Their engraved irises move gently within the sclera, observing me wordlessly. He no longer looks as soft and gentle as he always did—and his lips do not move either, maybe shifting an inch from left to right from time to time.

It is all my fault. I hate myself. But Sigurd does not. He thinks that I am alright.

Because I am sure that that burning spot on my forehead was a kiss.

He could not kiss me goodbye. So he kissed me to say hello. After all I had done to spite him, humiliate him, mistakenly get rid of him while trying to conceal my immature feelings. He still wants to give me so much when I can never make up my debts to him.

As my pathetic tears trickle down my pale, lifeless cheeks, his hands slowly get nearer to my face, determined to pick up the tears. Heartful warmth encircles me as the tears fall onto Sigurd’s burning hands, and subsequently evaporate away from them in little smoky clouds. His lifeless irises focus on mine once again, and his lips shuffle a little, expressing a thousand emotions that have been rekindled in just that one second.

“Sigurd?”

He wants to say something. I know he does, as his stony lips twitch almost unnoticeably, as his head bobs innocently from left to right. His eyes remain unevitably empty, but that cannot stop him from showing what he feels.

Then, I get an idea.

“ **Paper!** Yes, I am a fool—paper...”

Without waiting for Sigurd’s meager reaction, I rabidly crawl back to one of my desks, pulling a sheet of paper off of it and letting an entire pile of dark tomes topple onto my head. Seemingly too determined to be fazed by the several blows, I hug the parchment while grabbing a quill pen, and struggle back towards Sigurd.

After all, there is only so much I can do after so many nights spent sleeplessly scheming his return.

I lay the paper carefully on the ground, and hold out the quill towards him. He looks at me doubtfully, but I already know what he means.

“Do not worry. It is my favourite indestructible quill pen. It will not melt.”

Still besieged with caution, he holds out his hand towards the pen and takes it. Then, he observes the pen closely—and seeing that it does not indeed melt under his touch, he begins putting some ink down on paper.

Seeing his beautiful cursive fills me with tranquility as well as dread. I attempt to read it.

It is my name.

_“Arvis?”_

“Yes! Yes, yes. That is me, Sigurd. Yes”—I say excitedly, as if I were a child who had taught their pet how to speak, rapidly tapping at the folded parchment in joy. His lips twitch, and he continues to write on the paper.

_“You seem like you have missed me.”_

I’m ready to shed tears at that statement—he has no idea how much I’ve missed him. How much I’ve been thinking about what happened for months now. How much I regret it all.

“Of course I have! Sigurd, good Naga, I could not stop thinking about you! I-I want to apologize for what transpired then, because of me. I desired to fix the situation so much that I scoured the entire Velthomer library just to find a spell that would have let you return...but all of my sleepless nights have culminated into...well...”

I focus my eyes on his blank face.

“...this.”

He looks at me for a while—and then continues to scribble.

_“I apologize for not being able to speak and reply to you in voice, Arvis. I wish I could capture in words, how much I have been wanting to come back and see you once again. Thank you for sacrificing your health for mine own, but please do not ever put yourself in danger ever again for my sake.”_

By reading his message, I become too close to weeping for my own comfort, but Sigurd’s warmth manages to mitigate my tears before they have even gathered. Although one could say that the heat he radiates is scorching and painful, to my fatigued, starved self it is everything but that.

It feels like Sigurd and that is all I need.

“Sigurd, your heart is so unimaginably pure. I do not know what to say, how to answer! To think that none of this would have happened if I were not selfishly tempted—“

He suddenly lifts his hand up, signalling me to stop ranting about my faults and mistakes. He writes another message down.

_“Do not ever blame yourself for this. We all fall for temptation. It is a sin, but also a normal human mistake. What is important is that you learn from this experience.”_

He thinks for a while, and my eyes trace a few more of his scribbles on the page.

_“After all, I am here again. That is what we all wanted, yes? Then it is alright.”_

I can not understand what he means by ‘alright’ even a little. Not long ago, he was suddenly murdered along with his army by someone who has a crush on him. A person he had always trusted had been scheming against him, and turned their back on him in the moment when he had needed them most. The aforementioned coward had used the famed Valflame to submerge him in flames when he could not even defend himself. That is exactly how pathetic that person had been.

I was ashamed to be that person. I was not able to function properly with my mistake housed in my conscience for months.

Why does he say everything is ‘alright’? Literally nothing is ‘alright’. He is wrong.

“No. It is not ‘alright’! What is wrong with you?! I caused your death! I murdered you! I cast a flame on you and you perished! You should be haunting me and wanting to exact revenge by killing me right this moment!”

Despite my passionate outburst, he continues to look at me blankly. His lips don’t even bother twitching, and he remains still like real stone.

_“I could never kill you. I am sorry I caused you to hate yourself for all this time. You do not deserve this, Arvis.”_

“Yes I do! I damned deserve everything and more! You should not be able to forgive me, or even look at me!”

But he keeps looking at me, as if he chose not to hear everything I had said until now. His blank irises are etching themselves onto my soul with guilt.

_“But I am. What happened has happened. I shall not go back to it ever again. And, Arvis, please understand this, get this into your brain, think about what I am saying—I like you. As a companion, I would never want to abandon you. You mean quite a lot to me. Therefore you should never think that I would leave you, ever.”_

To him, I am a companion. He thinks we are friendly with each other. To think that he would ever return my feelings is a mistake. My heart aches, pleasantly in the face of his warmth.

“Ah. That’s great to hear.”

His lips repeatedly twitch their way into a curvy smile, and at that moment he looks like such a pure, innocent boy that my mind is taken almost straight back to our childhood days. We would spend weeks in this study together, having fun with new magic I had just learned, and flipping furniture upside down in the midst of crazed laughter. He would stay over at House Velthomer for weeks on end and sleep over, and we would have so much fun together, spending time full of childish dreams and ignorance to the outside world.

There were no wars. No expectations. No death. That did not exist.

The sound of quill drifting on parchment, knocks me out of my daydream once again, and I trace the beautiful cursive across the paper.

_“So, what now?”_

It’s a cloudy day outside. That likely spells thunder, which bothers me a little, as bad weather always makes me furious for no reason. My study looks like a pegasus barn, full of torn books, incantations, and extracts that had been read with half-shut eyes at least ten times over. The bookshelves are close to tipping over like dominos, but I have no leftover energy to stand up and set them up how they should be. I have not slept for months, and my body feels heavier with each passing second.

What now?

“Sigurd...would you like to stay with me? I want to get back the time that we have missed, together. With you.”

It does not take long at all for another sentence to form from the leaking ink of the quill pen.

_“I will do whatever makes you happy. And if that is staying with you, then I will do so.”_

Upon reading that statement, my fatigue forces me to let go of reality and I fall back onto the floor powerlessly. Just before my head hits it, I feel a warm, comforting hand at the nape of my neck that lifts my head back up. With the help of another, similarly rocky and scorching hand, most of my body is lifted upwards and slowly laid down on the soft lap on the person I love.

From there on, I sleep in peace, knowing that my work has paid off,

and Sigurd is finally here  
with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Arvis: hey Sigurd what have you got there  
> Sigurd: depression  
> Arvis: yooo this is so sad. Azelle, play ‘Disturbance in Agustria’
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!!!! and pwwease leave kudos and comments if you did so that this lonely writer can live thank you


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